The first day back at school was painful. Gale and I spent two hours in the woods beforehand, shivering and numb but managing to successfully track and bag a pair of snowshoe hares and a fox before heading for home. Peeta turned up for our third class. The room went silent as he wheeled himself in, heading for a chairless desk at the back of the room the teacher had the foresight to arrange. She approached him before class started, her voice quiet and kind, and I strained to listen to the exchange.
"I'm very glad to see you back," she said, leaning close with her hand on Peeta's back. He nodded, flashing a tight smile at her. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. And I'm sure your father told you, but all the same; I'm more than happy to tutor you a bit after school, any day you like, with anything you may need."
"Th-thank you," he said quietly, shifting and pressing his hand to the side of his face to cover the twitch in his jaw. She smiled and patted his shoulder before returning to the front of the class. He caught my eye briefly, dropping his eyes to the desk as Miss Krugel began her lecture on the coming semester. As I shifted to face the front of the room I noticed Merx Miller turning around as well. He'd been staring at Peeta, and I didn't like the smirk on his face one bit.
I wasted a few minutes at my desk after class, making a show of gathering the few textbooks I'd accumulated during the morning. They didn't even let us keep them through the winter break. Afraid we'd burn them to keep warm, I'm sure. I wanted to catch up with Peeta, but I didn't want to do so when any of the kids from town would be around to notice. Most of them spent the last minute or two of every class perched on the edge of their chairs, ready to take to the halls the second the bell rang so they could mill around as long as possible. I assumed Peeta would take his time and leave after most of the students had filed out of the classroom, but by the time I looked up he was gone, and I couldn't find him in the hall.
His schedule consisted of one class every day. They rotated to a different one each day of the week to cover the five academics we were required to take. When Mom explained it to me I assumed that meant he was exempt from the rotation of Life Studies, PE, and study hall that filled our sixth class period of the day. Skipping gym went without saying, and as much as I envied him for not having to suffer through the lectures on marriage, health, and our roles in society, that seemed a bit backhanded to me. It was as if those lessons on what the Capitol considered a responsible, productive adulthood no longer applied to him.
The second day was worse. The hush that fell over our fourth period class when Peeta wheeled himself in was broken by whispers and half-stifled laughing. It didn't help that Capps hadn't bothered being as courteous as Miss Krugel had about the desk, just pointed Peeta to an empty one at the back of the room. He kicked off our second day of class with a quiz as Peeta moved from his wheelchair to his seat. One of the Whitaker twins all but stared Peeta down as he sat. I hated the cocky smirk on his face. Even more than that, I hated the look he shot toward Merx when he turned around.
Fourth period was split in half by lunch, and I left the classroom as quickly as I could. I glanced toward Peeta on my way out the door; he was sitting sideways in his seat, looking at the wheelchair at the back of the classroom and frowning.
"I'd like to eat today too, Mr. Mellark, if you don't mind picking up the pace," I heard Capps say just before I turned down the hall. There were a few laughs behind me and it made my skin crawl. I walked faster, trying to get away from them, and the pace just brought me right up behind Merx and his crowd of simpering assholes.
"Can you fuckin' believe that chair after we saw him walking around town?" Verne Whitaker elbowed Merx as they walked.
"I told you he was milking it," Merx chuckled. I wanted to elbow my way between them and set them both straight. Point out the mile and a half walk to and from the school, the jostling in the halls, and maybe knock the two of them against the damn walls while I was at it. Instead I just stared daggers at the backs of their heads, trying to listen to every other conversation in the hall but theirs until I could duck around them when we reached the cafeteria.
"So Peeta joined you for math today, hm?" Madge said after I sat down, smirking at me and unwrapping her lunch.
"Word seems to travel awful fast," I shook my head, looking over to the merchant kids' table.
"His brother stopped to make eyes at his girlfriend through the window of our classroom," she rolled her eyes. She and Delly were on the same class rotation this year.
"So he's acknowledging her in public? Where there's witnesses?" I smirked, the expression faltering when I saw Peeta wheeling himself into the cafeteria. Everyone he passed stopped their conversations and turned to stare. Even after what they'd said, I still half expected him to go right back to the merchant table, but he barely gave them a passing glance before continuing past them to an empty table near the wall. Delly watched him, a vague frown on her face, and picked up her lunch before shoving her chair back and standing, still looking over toward him.
"Where do you think you're going?" Gilda Fisk's high, grating voice was easily audible from where we sat. Delly's quiet answer wasn't. Gilda let out a harsh laugh. "Sit down." She grabbed Delly's arm, yanking her back into her seat. Delly dropped her lunch bag on the table and stared down at it, her expression twisting with the threat of tears. Peeta either didn't notice the exchange or was making a point of ignoring it.
"For the love of god, seriously?" Madge dropped her hands against the table, staring at me.
"What?" I frowned, tearing my eyes away from Peeta.
"You're a pain in my ass," she snapped, getting up from the table and walking straight over to where Peeta sat. She leaned down to speak to him, and he glanced over his shoulder at me, chewing the inside of his lip. More people watched her take ahold of his chair and push him to our table than had watched him enter in the first place. "You'll be sitting here from now on." She smiled at me, pushing him to my side of the table and pulling away the empty chair beside me, pointing to the empty spot it left at the table.
"Um, o-okay," he raised his eyebrows, wheeling himself forward the last couple of feet and moving up to the table beside me. I glanced toward the people he used to call his friends. There wasn't a single set of eyes at that table that wasn't watching us, and I could feel more around the cafeteria. If they were going to watch, I was at least going to show them exactly how Peeta should have been treated.
"Hey," I angled toward him and smiled. Confusion flashed across his face for a moment. "Getting through it okay?"
"I g-guess," he shrugged, resting his forearms against the table and glancing up at Madge. "You d-didn't have to do that."
"You mean get my friend to eat lunch with her boyfriend?" Madge raised an eyebrow, smirking at us. Peeta straightened up a bit, stammering quietly before looking over at me. A faint blush crept into his face.
"Don't bother protesting. It's useless on her," I muttered, looking down at my lunch. I could feel heat rising in my own face, as well. Kissing or not, referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend sounded strange.
"You're turning her into an actual human being, you know," Madge said, smirking at Peeta. I gave her a look that she ignored. "Good job."
"Wh-what?" he glanced over at me before turning back to Madge.
"You're good for her," she said. Peeta just looked at me again, clearly unsure of how to respond. I saved him from needing to, sliding one of the cinnamon rolls I packed for lunch in front of him. He frowned at it.
"You didn't bring anything," I shrugged.
"I'm n-not going to b-be here long," he said, not quite lifting his eyes from the table.
"Eat anyway," I said, tearing my own roll in half before eating it. "Might make you feel a little less awkward. Give them one less reason to stare." I nodded toward Merx and his friends. They still hadn't taken their eyes off of us. Peeta looked up at them, his jaw tightening, and nodded to me in thanks.
Madge occupied most of the conversation, keeping both of us talking. Peeta was quiet, though, shy of his stutter. He wanted to keep it hidden, and I understood why. I couldn't help but steal glances toward the merchant table. It was more than obvious who they were talking about, if the looks they cast in our direction were any indicator. When lunch ended, I took ahold of the back of Peeta's wheel chair and began pushing him out ahead of me.
"K-Kat," he said, his voice tense and low. I leaned down to hear him better. "Walk b-beside me."
"What?"
"I c-can get around on my own," he said, cutting his eyes to the side as someone leered at him on their way past us. "P-please."
"Sorry," I frowned briefly, letting go and moving to walk beside him. I glanced back at Madge as she turned toward her class. She just waved at me, smiling a little too sweetly for my liking. I rolled my eyes, glancing down at the way Peeta gripped the push ring on the wheel, pressing down with his palms instead of fully curling his fingers around it. "I'll be at the bakery today."
"I w-was wondering-" he started, cutting himself off as Merx pushed past, the group he was with fanning across the hall in front of us and slowing their pace immediately. Peeta pressed his hands against the wheels of his chair, frowning and slowing himself down. They walked at a crawl, most of the students filtering around them to one side or the other, a luxury Peeta didn't quite have. I wasn't about to leave him to get back to class. His jaw tensed. He looked up at me and shook his head, his twitch kicking in when the kids ahead of us erupted into laughter before breaking into a near-run to get back to their classrooms. We would be late after that, a move that was deliberate on their part.
"Assholes," I muttered. When Peeta and I got back to class everyone was already in their seats with Capps on the verge of closing the door.
"Late. I'd expect better from you," he frowned at Peeta before looking at me with disgust and forcing me to duck around him to get to my desk. The meaning was clear. Trusting me to get anywhere on time was a stretch. Capps went out of his way to be hard on the seam kids. "You're not getting any special treatment out of this, Mellark."
"S-s-sorry—sir," Peeta frowned, ducking his head and moving to the back of the classroom. There were a few snickers from around the room.
"S-s-sorry s-s-sir," Merx muttered under his breath, earning himself a couple of laughs before Capps glared at us and silenced them. I leaned over my desk, pretending to be taking notes but really angling my head to watch Peeta. He kept the heel of his hand pressed against his jaw, his skin flushing, and stared down at the desk for the rest of class. As soon as the bell rang, he moved into his wheelchair and pushed himself out the door before I had a chance to catch up with him.
Rye was tense and quiet when I got to the bakery that afternoon. He kept shooting dark looks at me, gearing up to say something and cutting himself off before the words made it out. Twain asked a few idle questions about school, being a little too obvious in his skirting of Peeta in class. He wanted to know, and I did my best to fill him in without overstepping any boundaries Peeta may have wanted to maintain. Some things were his to tell. After Twain went out to take care of a few deliveries Rye finally spat out what he had been holding in.
"The fuck is going on in that school?" he snapped at me, dropping his work to stare me down.
"What are you talking about?" I frowned.
"I get that they're making fun of him. We knew that was coming," he folded his arms across his chest. "But why is it that when I asked about you on the way home he refused to fucking speak? Are you ignoring him? You're all fine with kissing my brother in private but you don't want anyone knowing you're spending all your time with a cripple?"
I gaped at him, turning to stare, still elbow deep in the cookie dough I was mixing. My anger was quickly replaced by guilt, though. Peeta had to share those same thoughts, and the idea of causing him any more stress than he already had to deal with was terrible. The idea of him thinking that was how I felt about him, though, felt like a vice tightening around my chest.
"I don't want to hear shit from you," Rye snapped. "But if you don't get the fuck up those stairs and explain your bullshit to him I will throw you in that fucking oven and lock the door."
I yanked my hands out of the bowl, shoving at him and walking over to the sink to scrub off the flour and bits of dough sticking to my forearms. As I did I kept looking over my shoulder to the stairs, trying to figure out what state I'd find Peeta in when I got up there. I dried my hands, frowning at Rye and slapping the towel and my apron onto the counter. He narrowed his eyes at me as I crossed the kitchen, and I tried to ignore him and get my thoughts in order.
The second floor was dark and quiet. I picked my way down the hall toward the bedroom, trying to listen for any hint of Peeta awake in there. There was nothing. I knocked on the door and got no response. I tried again, listening for a moment, and heard the shift of the mattress springs but nothing else. I waited a few seconds before cracking open the door.
"Peeta?" I kept my voice low. If he was asleep, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to wake him. Though I know Rye wouldn't accept that as an excuse if I went back downstairs that quickly. Peeta murmured wordlessly in response. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. He was pushing himself up in bed, rubbing his hand over his eyes.
"Hey," he ran his hand back through his hair, blinking at me and stretching his legs under the blankets. I sat on the edge of the bed by his knees, forcing myself to look away from his bare chest, the hint of muscle still visible across his stomach, how soft and smooth his skin looked in the faint evening light that leaked in around the drawn shade.
"I, um," I paused, chewing my lip and trying again to get my thoughts in order. "I owe you an apology."
"F-for what?" he frowned. He wasn't even looking at me, just staring down at his hands.
"I wasn't ignoring you," I said. His expression only shifted slightly, but enough to tighten the vice a bit further. "I mean. I was. But it wasn't..." I sighed. "I thought you would want your old friends back. And they certainly wouldn't talk to you if I was hanging around." He looked up at me for the first time since I opened the door. His jaw was set, a hint of distrust in his eyes. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I was being pretty stupid."
"You—you're n-not emb-embarrassed by me?" he balled the blankets in his fists and bit down on his lower lip to hide the tremble that had started there.
"Peeta," I shifted closer, closing my eyes for a moment and covering his hand with mine. "No. No, I'm not. I thought that. Well. You'd be embarrassed by me."
"Th-that is p-pretty stupid," he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I laughed at myself quietly and looked away. A few moments of silence passed between us. "Kat?"
"Yeah?"
"It's okay," he said, and the look on his face made my heart jump. Soft and open and warm. He smiled faintly. "J-just don't d-do it anymore."
"Okay," I chuckled, covering my eyes for a moment. I could feel my face flushing. Peeta took my hand, tugging it gently, and I shifted further up the bed to be closer to him. As soon as I was within reach he sat up and put his arms around me. Tentative at first, but tightening them when I moved closer and slipped my arms around his waist. His skin was as hot as the brick of the ovens downstairs, and my breath caught in my throat when I felt his lips graze my neck. I kissed his shoulder and flattened my hands against his back, turning my head to tuck up against his neck. My breathing fell into rhythm with his. I was too conscious of the heat of his skin, the smell of him, and his hand moving slowly across my lower back. I couldn't tell if it was his heart I heard pounding or my own. He leaned back against the headboard, pulling me with him. I tucked my feet up onto the mattress, letting myself lean into him. I didn't want to move.
After a while I felt him yawn, his chest expanding with it and lifting me. I straightened up, knowing I needed to leave him to get some sleep, and that it was getting close to when I'd need to head home anyway, and hating both of those things. I kissed him softly, his mouth opening gently against mine for only a moment before he pulled back, untangling himself from me as I sat up.
"See you tomorrow, Peet," I smiled, looking down as his hands slid away from me and dropped into his lap.
"B-bright and early," he smirked humorlessly.
"First class of the day?" I asked, chuckling at the annoyed expression I got in response. I squeezed his hand before getting up, glancing back at him from the doorway. "Goodnight."
"Bye," he smiled faintly, dropping his eyes before I even got the door closed. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hand over my hair as I moved down the hall and went downstairs.
"Judging by how long you took I'm going to guess that was a proper apology," Rye said before I even hit the bottom step, accompanying the statement with a few vulgar gestures. I sneered at him.
"I apologized," I said, looking to see what was still left to do for the night. It seemed as though Rye had actually managed to finish before I came down. "And explained my 'bullshit'."
"Good," Rye smirked. "And I'm guessing I probably need to give him some, uh, privacy before I head up there."
"Don't be vile," I frowned at him. "And I'm leaving."
"Goodnight, Catpiss," Rye grinned and waved as I headed into the mudroom and snatched my coat from where it hung on the wall, tugging it on as I went out back. I nearly ran headlong into Twain as I hit the bottom of the stairs.
"Woah," he set his hands on my shoulders, steering me around him. "Headed home?"
"Yes," I smiled briefly and wondered if he knew why Peeta had been coming back from class upset every day.
"See you tomorrow," he nodded. "Be careful out there, the paths are a little icy."
"Goodnight, Twain," I waved before rounding the corner to head back home. The night air was frigid, and I hugged my arms around myself, huddling against the bitter wind. I thought of Peeta. How warm it was wrapped in his arms. How good it felt to be there. I occupied myself with thoughts of being back in that warm bed with him to pass the time and found myself at my own front door far sooner than I thought I'd be. I let myself in, shucking my cold weather gear and crossing the room to the fire as quickly as I could manage. Mom looked up from where she sat at the table as I sat on the edge of the hearth. "Hi."
"How was work?" she flipped her notebook closed, smiling at me.
"Good," I shrugged, trying my best to sound casual. Most of my shift was spent in Peeta's bed. I rubbed my hands over my arms, turning to hold them out toward the fire.
"How has Peeta been doing in school?" She pushed her chair back from the table. I glanced over my shoulder to see her reaching into the cabinet for a plate and turned back to the fire.
"How do you think?" I frowned. "The people he used to be friends with are making fun of him, and our math teacher made a point of singling him out today. He didn't even leave his bedroom while I was over there today." She probably knew I spend a good chunk of my time up there with him. That lecture she gave us popped back into my head, and I was too shocked by the realization of what she thought was going on in that room to realize she was still talking to me. It wasn't until she held a plate with a slice of cake on it in front of me and passed me a fork that I snapped out of it. "What?"
"I asked what you're doing to help," she repeated as I took the plate and fork.
"Um, I was avoiding him," I frowned, hating to admit it, but if she heard it from me I'd be less likely to get a lecture than if she heard it from Peeta tomorrow. I looked down at the cake as I scooped a piece onto my fork. The flowers piped along the side—this was one of Twain's. "I thought he'd want his friends back, and they wouldn't talk to him with me hanging around."
"Noble, but misguided," Mom smiled at me. I looked down at the cake again. It was obviously fresh, and I wondered if this was the delivery Twain had been out on. It did seem to take longer than the ones he usually made. "I hope you straightened that out."
"I apologized today," I nodded.
"Good," she said, watching me for a moment. "Anything else I should be prepared for before I head over there tomorrow?" Peeta had gotten a break from Mom for the few days right before and right after school began. She'd thought the entire ordeal would leave him too exhausted for her to do him any good. I shook my head, hoping the warmth in my face was from the fire and that she wasn't trying to weasel anything about Peeta and I from me. It wasn't going to work.
Even after a couple of weeks at school Peeta was still earning stares. The whispers had nearly ended, and the holdouts were among Merx and his group of assholes. I honestly didn't expect that to ever stop. When we sat down to lunch on Tuesdays they stared at us, turning back to each other long enough for one of them to say something that would set the rest laughing before turning back. Peeta did his best to ignore it, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and how exhausted he looked after the days when they were at their worst. Madge filled in the conversational gaps when I fell into staring daggers at them, though more often than not I watched Delly. She sat at the end of the table and spent most of lunch staring down at her uneaten meal. She didn't laugh. Every now and then she'd cut her eyes at them, her face twisting at something they said. On the rare occasion she lifted her eyes from the table to look at us she looked sad.
Peeta hardly left his room. When he did come down to the bakery while I worked it was only for a short while. I invariably followed him when he went back upstairs. He didn't talk about it, though I was sure my mother spent enough time trying to get him to that he didn't need it from me. I tried to open doors, pointing out their bullshit and making sure he knew that I'd listen. Talking about school at all was the fastest way to get him to shut down on me, though.
I walked downstairs one afternoon, my lips still burning from his kiss, to find Delly standing in the kitchen. Rye was leaning against her, his hands on her waist, and his voice soft. She had the knuckles of one hand pressed to her mouth, staring off to one side. She shook her head at whatever he was saying and sniffled, tearing her gaze away from the floor when I neared the bottom of the stairs. She shoved Rye back a step and smoothed down her dress.
"Hi, Katniss," she said quietly, flashing a faint smile and folding her arms around herself.
"Hey," I frowned. Rye raised an eyebrow at me, trying to tell me something with his expression that I wasn't quite getting. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
"We were talking about those shitheads at school," he said, raising his eyebrows at me. He obviously wanted me to weigh in, but I didn't think Delly would much care for what I had to say.
"'Shitheads' doesn't cover it," I muttered, tugging an apron down off the wall and tying it around my waist. "Why do you still hang out with them?"
"It's not like I can just walk away," Delly frowned. "I know you saw Gilda grab me when I tried to get up that first day."
"Fuckin' bitch," Rye muttered, shaking his head.
"You could have just kept going," I turned to her, folding my arms across my chest. "Who gives a shit about Gilda Fisk?"
"Her dad runs the bank," Delly said, an edge of panic in her voice. I just raised an eyebrow. "Which means if her sister and her new husband don't take over, she will. Or whoever she ends up marrying. People hold grudges, Katniss."
"We're fifteen," I said, trying to imagine anyone holding a grudge about a school fight into adulthood. "Who the hell cares?"
"When they were fourteen Hollis Ayers and my mom got into a fight and didn't speak to each other again," she said. "They're like, 40, and the supply orders for the shoe shop still 'get lost' a couple of times a year."
"Who the fuck is Hollis Ayers?" I rolled my eyes. I had no idea who any of these townies were and hated listening to them talk like I did.
"Hollis collects the order forms for the monthly supply trains," Rye explained. "And the Ayers pretty much run the Justice Hall, half of the people who work there are related to them. Phyl bitches about it all the damn time."
"That's stupid," I looked from one to the other, expecting this to be a joke. Were people in town really this petty? If someone held a grudge in the seam the source of it tended to be something far more serious than a schoolyard fight. And even then I couldn't think of anyone who'd go that far to act on it. Maybe it was because most of us were too busy struggling to survive. It amazed me what sort of bullshit suddenly came up when life got easier. "Delly, who cares what they think of you? And why would you just play into them being that petty? It's only going to make them worse. If you don't want to listen to them, walk away from them. I know Peeta would certainly appreciate it. You're supposed to be his friend. And it's one less person backing them up."
"See?" Rye said, stepping closer to Delly and rubbing his hand across her back. "She thinks so, too. Fuck 'em." Delly leaned into him, smiling for a moment before her expression turned thoughtful.
The following Tuesday she leaned toward Gilda Fisk during lunch, her expression pinched and angry as she spoke. Gilda just stared at her, too shocked to even respond. Delly picked up her lunch, stood up from their table, and crossed the cafeteria. Every single one of them sitting at that table craned to watch her, and she beelined for us, dropping down into the seat beside Madge.
"You guys don't mind if I sit here, do you?" she asked, the bravado dropping out of her expression.
"Nope," I smirked and looked over at Peeta. He shook his head, smiling to himself.
"It's about time you grew a spine," Madge smiled at her, drawing a faint blush to Delly's face.
"So I hear you have a new friend," Gale leaned against a tree, looking down at me as I tied off a snare. I gave him a look. "Your social circle just keeps expanding, Catnip."
"Oh, shut up," I rolled my eyes and threw the dead squirrel I liberated from the snare a little harder than I should have. He caught it easily.
"You're stuck with Delly now, you know," he said as I stood, pushing off from the tree and leading the way to our next snare in the line. "Madge likes her. They were hanging out when I stopped by the other day. Not to mention you're dating her boyfriend's brother."
"I'm not dating Peeta," I shoved his shoulder as he crouched over the next snare. Empty, but tripped. He glanced up at me before he set it again.
"Hooking up with him, then," Gale corrected.
"I'm not hooking up with him, either," I tugged at the strap of my game bag, looking away from him. I hated that casual phrasing. It made me sound like a slut.
"Whatever it is you're doing, then," he chuckled. I felt like slapping him but couldn't come up with a way to explain why out loud, and I knew he'd demand to know. A sharp wind blew through the trees, whipping pine needles at the two of us. I tightened my scarf and moved ahead, forcing Gale to chase after me until I got to the ridge.
I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing, to be perfectly honest. I didn't think about any of it. Nothing I did with Peeta was premeditated. There was definitely no planning that went into anything that went on between us. At lunch that day I moved my chair closer to him and took his hand under the table. He smiled down at the sandwich half in front of him and threaded our fingers together. Neither Delly or Madge even looked up from their conversation.
I spent more time at the bakery, stayed later than usual and turned up earlier on Saturdays. Slowly, Peeta started spending more time out of his bedroom. School wasn't going to get any easier, but he seemed to be getting better at putting up with it. Mom wanted him to spend more time in classes as soon as he felt ready. She spent time discussing it with Twain and made a trip to speak with the school administration about it. All it did was stress Peeta out.
The first day he stayed for two classes was a Friday and was meant to give him the weekend to recover. By the end of the second class his twitch had grown impossible to hide. Our science teacher—clueless but well meaning—had addressed him in class twice, and the stuttering, halted responses she got left half the class stifling laughter, not just Merx. Peeta dropped his gaze to his desk, leaning forward and tugging his hat down. I saw him wipe under his eyes quickly before turning around.
After class I nearly had to run to keep from losing him as he pushed his chair down the hall. Rye would be waiting for him out front, but I was intent on bringing him home. I'd already put in my work for the week at the bakery, but what happened in class was going to leave him shaky, at best, for a couple of days. Maybe I could help.
Rye and Delly were standing out front, his arm around her waist. He made a point of kissing her when Merx and Gilda walked by, twin sneers on their faces. Delly's face was flushed crimson when he pulled away. Peeta didn't even slow down, just rolled past them, letting the wheels run through his hands down the gentle slope leading away from the front of the school.
"The hell happened?" Rye said as I blew past, still trying to catch up. He pulled away from Delly to walk with me, and I heard her quick little footsteps behind us.
"What do you think?" I snapped. "I'll take care of it. Go... do whatever." I glanced over my shoulder at Delly. The two of them slowed to a stop, and I ran a few steps to catch up with Peeta. I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. "Will you slow down?"
"N-no," he kept going, giving the wheels a shove forward that jerked the chair from my grasp. I swore under my breath and just tried to keep up his pace. When we reached the front of the bakery he got up out of the wheelchair and tried hauling it down the alley between the two buildings. I was a step behind him and grabbed onto it when he faltered, reaching out and hooking my arm through his as his foot skidded on the snow.
"Peeta-"
"I'm fine," he snapped, jerking his arm away from me and steadying himself against the building. Before he turned and walked away I caught sight of the tears in his eyes. He disappeared around the side of the building, and I pushed his wheelchair ahead of me and hauled it up the back stairs. As I stepped into the mudroom I could hear him on the stairs, his bedroom door slamming shut a moment later.
"Rye?" Twain called, poking his head in as I pulled off my jacket. "Wait. Katniss? What happened? Where's Rye?"
"Bad day," I frowned, glancing past Twain toward the stairs. He moved back into the kitchen, and I followed behind. "It was too much, I think. The kids... you know." Twain nodded, folding his arms across his chest and frowning at the floor. "Rye's with Delly. I thought I might be able to do a little more good."
"Thank you," Twain looked over at me, his voice sincere. He gestured toward the stairs. "Go on." I nodded before heading upstairs. I knocked softly on his door but didn't bother waiting for a response before opening it. I knew I wasn't going to get one. Peeta was laying in bed, curled up facing the wall, the blankets pulled up to his ears.
"Peet?" I said quietly. He just curled in on himself further. I sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch his shoulder. He flinched and drew a slow breath. "They're assholes. You know that."
"S-st-stop," he said, his voice muffled and thick. I sighed and stared down at the floor. After a moment I heard him trying to muffle tears and pushed my hair back away from my face, trying to figure out what the hell to do. It only took a moment. I tugged my boots off, got up off of the bed, and lifted the edge of the blanket to slip underneath. Peeta stuttered a quiet protest that ended as soon as I pressed against his back, curling my arm under his and pressing a kiss against his shoulder. I laid my cheek against the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt and closed my eyes. His shoulders shook with the sobs he was trying to keep silent, and I tightened my arm around him.
The room had darkened by the time he'd cried himself out. When he finally went still, his breathing evening out, I pressed my lips to the side of his neck. He turned to face me, shifting carefully in the narrow bed. His eyes were red and swollen. I smiled and pushed his hat back off of his head to comb my fingers through his hair.
"I h-hate that—you s-see me like this," he said softly, reaching for the hat and looking down at it in his hand.
"I'm glad you let me." I took the hat from him and pushed myself up to set it on the dresser. I laid back down, resting my head on his pillow, the intimacy of laying here so close to him finally hitting me. It made my heart race.
"Th-there's um—something I've wanted to t-tell you f-for a while," he said, dropping his gaze. The muscles along his jaw twitched, and I reached out to brush my fingers over them. He took my hand in his, pulling it away but keeping a gentle hold on it. "It's j-just hard to s-say."
"It's okay," I squeezed his hand. It took him a minute to put himself together, his eyes unfocused. I could see him working through it in his head, getting the words in order.
"It d-doesn't feel real—that you're this n-nice to me," he chewed his lip, looking down at our hands. He stroked his thumb over the back of mine. "I've wanted th-this. Forever. I. Um." He closed his eyes, frowning for a moment. "I've b-been hoping for a way to g-get close to you—since th-the first time I saw you. Th-this isn't how I want to b-be." I moved a little closer to him, pressing my lips together. What Rye had said to me popped back into my head—that he needed time to be the person he wanted to be for me. He'd been alluding to this, that Peeta had always cared about me. "I d-don't know if I can be—better-"
"Stop," I said softly. "I don't want you to be better." I shifted my hold on his hand and set it on my waist. "If you want to be better then I'll help, but I just want you to be you." I kissed him softly. He just stared at me, his expression laced with confusion. "You're hurt, I know, but there's nothing wrong with who you are."
He took a breath to speak, his brow furrowing, but stopped himself. His hand slid to my back, pulling me closer, and he leaned in to kiss me. I smiled against his lips, sliding my arm around his waist and melting against him. His skin was hot, the blankets trapping it against us, and the heat only got more intense when his mouth opened against mine, his tongue brushing my lips. I met it with my own, sliding my leg against his. He pulled back briefly, his lips never quite leaving mine, and his breath hot and heavy. Peeta shifted carefully, his hand sliding from my back to my hip, turning me onto my back and moving until he was nearly on top of me. I wrapped my arms around him, lifting my chin and catching his mouth with mine.
His weight on me was dizzying, and I couldn't let go of him. I couldn't bring myself to break my lips away from his. When his kisses shifted, trailing away from the corner of my mouth, a small whimper of disappointment escaped me, shifting to a gasp when he found the hollow beneath my jaw. He wound his fingers into my hair, moving himself over me, his hips tilting and pressing into my own. I felt him swelling against me and let my hand drift down his back as I offered my neck to him. I combed my fingers into his hair, my heart pounding as his hands crept up my sides. I wanted him to touch me, wanted his hands on my skin. I'd imagined it, but the idea of it being this close to a reality was making me short of breath. His mouth found its way back to mine, and I turned my head to meet his kiss, craning forward and opening my mouth, trying to draw something deeper from him. He moaned softly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into mine. We were getting carried away. Too fast. And I didn't want to stop it. I raised my knee, my thigh sliding against his hip. Peeta rolled against me, and his hardness made me gasp.
Footsteps in the hall. Peeta froze, his lips hovering over mine, fingers just barely brushing my breasts. I took a deep breath as the sound ceased, unintentionally lifting into one of his hands. We both shrank back from the contact, and a knock on the door jerked us away from each other.
"Peet? Katniss?" Twain said quietly as we sat up. "Everything okay?" I stared at Peeta. My eyes had to be as wide as his; my jaw working uselessly. He pointed to his mouth, his eyes frantic.
"Um, yeah, we're fine," I said, grimacing and praying that Twain didn't open the door.
"Okay. If you need anything, you let me know," he paused.
"Okay, D-Dad." Peeta pressed his eyes closed, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose.
"Rye still hasn't turned up so, uh, I have to get back downstairs," he said. The doorknob jerked, and I hoped he had just dropped his hand there. My heart was in my throat. "Just wanted to check on you."
"Thanks, Twain." I covered my eyes, my face burning hot. "We're okay." After a moment his footsteps receded down the hall. As soon as he hit the stairs, I dropped back against the pillows and blew out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Peeta said quietly, his eyes still wide. He laid down beside me, gingerly lowering himself on his side, being careful not to touch me.
"That was um-"
"T-too much," he said. I looked over at him. His eyes were downcast and his expression almost sad.
"A little, yeah," I turned on my side to face him. He frowned. "But I was going to say good." The expression fell and he looked up at me.
"R-really?"
"Yes," I chuckled, leaning forward and kissing him softly.
"Katniss, um-" he swallowed, chewing the inside of his lip for a moment. "Are we—um. D-doing this? You and I, I mean. T-together."
"I'd like to," I said, tucking my hands under my cheek. A smile twitched across his lips, settling in and brightening his features as it grew. He shifted a little closer and brushed a stray wisp of hair behind my ear.
"I um—I don't want you t-to leave yet," he said, smirking at me. "B-but when you do, um—you might want t-to fix your hair." I lifted my hand and smoothed it back over my hair, feeling the mess my braid had turned into. I laughed quietly and let the end of the braid run through my hand to reach the elastic. I pulled it off and slipped it around my wrist before working my fingers through, loosening my hair and letting it come undone. Peeta watched me, a faint smile on his face, and leaned in to kiss me as soon as I finished.
I stayed with him. The kisses we shared as we talked were brief and chaste. When we heard Rye's voice downstairs, and the beginnings of an argument with Twain, I reluctantly slipped away from him. I leaned over him and kissed him again before sitting on the edge of the bed to tug my boots on. He sat up and smoothed his hand over my hair, untangling the snarls with his fingers.
"S-see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly. I nodded, smiling as he kissed my cheek.
"Tomorrow." I pushed up from the bed, hovering by the door for a minute and looking back at him before slipping out. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail as I made my way down the stairs.
"I don't fucking understand it, Rye," Twain snapped. "You're so good with him most of the time, and then you pull shit like this. Disappear without a damn word. He could have used his brother around today, you know."
"She told me she had it," Rye gestured past Twain toward me. Twain straightened up and turned around, sighing and running his hand through his hair, muttering an apology for his language. "She certainly spent enough time up there." Rye raised an eyebrow at me.
"He's okay," I offered, even though I had no desire to get in the middle of it. I just knew if Peeta heard them it would ruin the good mood I hoped I was leaving him in. "He could probably use some sleep, but he's okay."
"Thank you, Katniss," Twain nodded, turning a hard look towards Rye. "For looking out for my boy."
"Um, you're welcome." I couldn't help but wonder what he'd think if he knew what he was inches away from walking in on earlier. "It's late, though, so I'm just going to get going."
"Of course," Twain nodded, turning back to me. He pointed toward the mudroom. "There's a bag on the bench in there for you to take home with you. Are you coming in tomorrow?"
"I'll be here," I nodded, ignoring the devious expression that was overtaking Rye's face. He slipped off his stool, ducking behind Twain and taking off up the stairs before I even had my coat on. Twain just sighed, shaking his head.
"Goodnight, Katniss," he scratched his hand through his hair and turned toward the storefront, muttering to himself as he went.
"Goodnight, Twain," I said, chuckling as I picked up the bag filled with a share of the day's leftovers and heading out the back door.
Peeta was all I thought of through the walk home, when I handed the bag to my mother, while we ate dinner, while Prim and I sat by the fire and took turns brushing and braiding each others hair before bed. When I laid down to sleep beside Prim all I thought of was his weight and his heat on me, and it made pulse quicken. I carefully disentangled myself from Prim and relocated to the living room. Mom was long in bed, the fire low and dim. It barely warmed the couch, but the thoughts creeping into my head had me flushed, not to mention feeling guilty for thinking them in that bed beside my sister.
I dropped onto the couch, tugging a quilt down from where it lay draped across the back and kicked the fold out to cover my legs. I could feel Peeta's weight on me still, and bit my lip as heat bloomed from between my thighs. The taste of his mouth was something I had come to know, along with the feel of his lips, and his hands in my hair. The pressure of him on me was new, and so sweet, and my breath caught in my throat when I thought of his hardness pushing against my hip. Where would things have led, if Twain hadn't interrupted us? What did we think we were doing? My fingers slipped below the waist of my pajamas as I thought about it. Imagined him moving against me, touching me; his tongue and lips moving against mine and roaming my skin. I imagined pulling his clothes from him, and his hands working their way beneath mine, peeling them back. I thought of our bare skin pressed together, and a tiny moan escaped me that stopped me cold. My fingers stopped and I held my breath, listening to the sounds of the house; the crackle of the fire, my mother's steady breathing, a soft murmur out of Prim as she slept. I sighed, pulling my hand out of my pants and shifting on the couch. I caught sight of Buttercup, perched on the arm of the couch by my feet and staring at me.
"Don't you look at me like that," I hissed at him, kicking my foot in his direction. He just blinked at it, his tail twitching behind him. "I've seen you lick your ass, you know." His ears flicked back, but he didn't move. I sat up, lunging for him with no real intention of following through, but it scared him off of the couch anyway. I flopped back, tugging the blanket up to my ears and turning toward the back of the couch. Maybe sleep would get Peeta off of my mind.
It didn't work. I couldn't shake him. Not during breakfast, not while I was hunting, not until partway through my workday at the bakery and he came down to the kitchen to sit. I had to stop myself from kissing him the minute I saw him. My smile was too wide, though and earned me a look from Rye that made my face burn. Peeta smiled down at the table, scratching his fingers up under his hat. We made it until mid-afternoon before going upstairs together. He took my hand in his the minute we were out of Rye's sight.
"I was, um, a little nervous I scared you off," he said as we went into the bedroom.
"You didn't-" I started to laugh, stopping short when it hit me. Peeta turned to me as he closed the door, his eyebrows raised. I pointed at him. "You didn't stutter."
"What?"
"Your stutter," I smiled. He took a breath, his shoulders rising with it as the realization hit him. He blushed, his cheeks flushing a splotchy pink.
"You had to p-point it out," he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. I laughed softly.
"I'm sorry," I said as I stepped closer and kissed him. "I know the stress from school makes it worse. It's just nice to hear that you're... I don't know. Feeling a little better, I guess."
"For n-now," he chewed the inside of his lip, looking down. I set my hand on his cheek and kissed him again, and this time he kissed me back, his hands settling lightly on my waist.
"And you didn't scare me off," I said. Peeta pulled his hands back, moving away from me and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I g-got carried away and I'm—sorry," he swallowed, apparently unable to raise his eyes to look at me. I sat down next to him, my heart fluttering at the feel of his leg against mine. Did he think about me anywhere near as much as I thought about him last night?
"It's okay," I said, looking away before he could see the blush I felt rising into my face. His hand was on my cheek a moment later, turning me back to him so he could kiss me. By the time I made my way back downstairs my lips were swollen and hot.
"If you'd like to leave early today, Katniss, feel free," Twain said. He was leaning in the doorway to the storefront, hands shoved in his pockets, watching Rye work. "Rye's going to close up on his own tonight. Aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Rye sneered sarcastically. "Just like last night. Because I'm being punished. Because you-" He stopped and pointed at me accusingly. "Sent me off to hang out with my girlfriend. So thanks for that."
"She did shit. Get back to work," Twain snapped at him, turning to me and apologizing for his language before turning into the storefront to help a customer.
"Have some more fun up there today, Catpiss?" Rye grinned, wagging his eyebrows at me. I remembered him running up the stairs as I left yesterday, and my face went slack. Peeta told him. That little bastard. My expression betrayed me, and Rye was already laughing when I recovered enough to make a poor attempt at a poker face. Twain stepped back in a moment later, cutting off whatever else Rye had to say.
"I'll walk you out." Twain lifted a small brown bag from one of the shelves by the door, following me into the mudroom and standing in the doorway as I pulled my coat on. He watched me with a vague smile on his face that made me feel a little self conscious and didn't say another word until we were out on the back porch. He closed the door behind us and turned to me, his smile widening for a moment. "I just need to thank you for whatever you did for Peeta yesterday."
"I- um. What?" I could feel the color flooding my face. There's no way—no way—he could really be thanking me for that.
"He hasn't been doing well." Twain's smile faded a bit, his gaze falling. "Not since school started up again. I had started to worry it was a mistake to send him back. But last night he was as close to himself as he's been in a long time. He had dinner with us downstairs, pitched in with some of the prep work—Rye was exaggerating about closing alone—and actually spoke. Even got up to have breakfast with us this morning. Other than school he hasn't been out of bed before noon since—well." Twain paused, glancing down at his feet before continuing. "He was happy, and I honestly can't remember the last time I was able to say that."
"Really?" I couldn't help but smile, remembering how he'd looked at me after Twain had interrupted us. His smile at the idea of he and I together. I'd never really accepted that I had been the positive influence Twain and my mother kept insisting I was, or that I had actually been helping him in any way. But maybe I was. Maybe I really could help him be happy again.
"Yes," Twain chuckled softly. "Thank you, Katniss."
"Don't thank me," I looked away, biting my lip and smiling. What would he think if he knew what we'd been doing?
"You're good for him," he said. He shook his head, laughing to himself for a moment and scratching the back of his neck. The gesture was so much like Peeta. "And honestly, I think you've been a good influence on Rye too, somehow. Never thought I'd say that about anyone, but he's been a little more human lately. It's kind of nice. I may end up eating my words on that, though."
"I think that's going a little too far," I raised an eyebrow, and Twain chuckled softly.
"Would you give this to your mother for me, please?" He handed me the bag cradled in his arm.
"Of course." I took it from him, and he pulled me into a loose hug, careful not to press the bag between us.
"I'll see you in a few days, Katniss," he said, patting my shoulder and letting his hand slide off my arm.
"Bye, Twain," I smiled, and he stood on the porch until I'd rounded the corner of the building, deciding to stop in and see Madge before heading home.
Flora let me in through the back door. The stout, matronly seam woman had worked for the Undersees since before Madge was born and had all but raised her. My more recent visits to the mansion had fallen on her days off, and I couldn't even remember the last time I had seen her. She appraised me with a warm, lopsided smile and pulled me into a hug before I even had a chance to say hello properly.
"Heard you found yourself a sweetie," she said, setting her hands on my shoulders.
"I do not have a 'sweetie'," I rolled my eyes.
"Mhm," she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Whatever you say. At least his father is feeding you girls. I swear the three of you would have blown away in a stiff breeze this time last year. I know your mother's a delicate woman, but, well. Nice to see some well-placed meat on your bones for once."
"Flora," I laughed, looking away. I had definitely put on weight in the past few months. I'd had to let out the seams mom had sewn up the sides of my pants to keep them from slipping off my hips in leaner times and most of my shirts actually had something to stretch over now. Aside from my mother's commentary, Madge had been the only one to actually point any of it out. Madge, though, had mostly pointed out the attention my newly acquired curves had apparently earned me. Attention I neither noticed nor cared about.
"Girls are upstairs," Flora tapped her finger against the end of my nose, tossing her head toward the narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen. "In Maggie's room."
"Thanks," I shifted the bag in my arms and headed for the stairs. Flora had flustered me enough that it wasn't until halfway up that I realized she'd said 'girls'. Who else was here? Madge's laughter filtered down the hall; a quiet, high giggle joining it as I made my way to her room. I pushed on the partially open door. Madge was sitting in the middle of her expansive bed with Delly Cartwright sitting facing her, covering half of her face and blushing. The two of them looked up as I stepped into the room.
"Katniss!" Madge grinned. "Tore yourself away from the bakery for five minutes, hm?"
"Shut up," I rolled my eyes, shrugging my coat off and setting the bag on the floor.
"Hi, Katniss," Delly said, a warm smile on her face.
"Hi," I tried to return it, turning my attention to tugging my boots off instead. Even with her sitting with us at lunch I'd hardly said more than a few sentences to Delly. She was a little too vapid for me, all smiles and dresses and carefully primped curls. Madge kept telling me to cut her a break, that if I lightened up and just tried being her friend she would surprise me. I had a hard time buying it. I dropped my boots on the floor next to her shoes, a pair of black leather booties with ribbon laces and low heels. I couldn't tell whether how ridiculous they looked was a product of my mud caked hunting boots slouching beside them or not.
"What's in the bag?" Madge's eyebrows crept up as she craned to look toward where it sat on the floor.
"Nothing for you," I sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's for my mom."
"From Twain?" Delly asked. I nodded, and she bit her lip and smiled, exchanging a look with Madge.
"Don't," I gave them a look.
"Oh, come on, Twain and your mom? That's adorable," Madge said, tilting her head to the side.
"It's gross and weird," I countered.
"Because she's your mom or because you're well on your way to nailing his son?" Madge said, straightening up and raising her chin, a smile playing across her lips that I wanted to slap off her face.
"My dad said Twain's been making an awful lot of trips out to the seam lately," Delly said, dropping her gaze and smiling when I turned my scowl toward her. "Just saying."
"Let your mom have her thing with your boyfriend's dad, it's cute," Madge pushed. I turned to sit facing the two of them, crossing my legs and picking at the hem of my pants, frowning at the idea. My mother did not have a life outside of Prim and me and the Hawthornes and healing, and trying to wrap my head around anything else was not working.
"I do not have a boyfriend," I snapped. "And my mother is not having a thing with anyone."
"Which one of those is a bigger lie?" Madge said to Delly. Delly let out a soft snort, stifling her laugh with the back of her knuckles.
"I don't! We're just friends," I frowned.
"Friends who spend a lot of time alone in his bedroom." Madge raised an eyebrow. I just rolled my eyes and looked away. "That's where you were, before you came here. Don't deny it. Does Twain, you know, pay you any extra to get in bed with his son? I mean, I know you'd do it for free-"
"Madge!" I slapped her leg, staring at her and cutting my eyes toward Delly. Not that she didn't know about me spending time upstairs with Peeta, but I didn't know how much she knew about things between he and I. If she and Rye were anything like Madge and Gale—which I seriously doubted they were, anyway—she knew everything. More than I even wanted Rye to know. The look on her face was thoughtful, though, and she wasn't even looking at me, but over my shoulder toward the wall.
"What does their bedroom look like?" she asked, turning her attention toward me. Both Madge and I stared at her. "What?"
"How long have you been with Rye?" Madge cocked an eyebrow.
"Um. Two years?" she said, her shoulders lifting slightly.
"And you've never even seen his bedroom?" A smile tugged at Madge's lips.
"I'm not allowed upstairs," Delly said, a deep blush creeping into her face.
"Why?" Madge laughed. I tuned out, chewing my lip and worrying at a hole in the seam of my pants. I knew why Delly wasn't allowed upstairs. It was because Rye was utterly incapable of keeping his hands to himself. Nearly every time I'd walked downstairs and found her there, he was weaseling his tongue down her throat, and his hands into her dress.
Of course, Peeta and I were starting to creep towards being incapable of the same thing. All I wanted to do was kiss him. Truthfully, I kept thinking about what we'd done the day before, and I kept wanting more of that. He was hesitant today, like he was afraid to touch me. If I hadn't been so focused on his lips against mine I'd have just grabbed his hands and put them where I wanted. That probably would have shocked him into stopping completely, and I didn't have the patience for that.
But it wasn't just that. It wasn't just wanting to kiss and touch him—I cared about him. A lot. It bothered me when he was upset, to an extent that caught me off guard. Just knowing how much he struggled got to me, but seeing him cry absolutely broke my heart. And by the same token, knowing that I'd been the direct source of him being so happy last night and this morning made me feel almost giddy. I gave up on the stray threads of my pants and chewed my nails instead, trying to put all of this in order.
I thought of Peeta's question. Were we doing this? He and I. Together. I hadn't exactly said yes, but that was exactly what I'd meant. And for all of his difficulty picking up on subtleties, he'd certainly picked up on that.
"Does he even take you out on dates?" Madge asked, her tone incredulous and teasing and dragging me out of my own head.
"He took me to the cafe yesterday," Delly shrugged, a shy smile on her face. "He works all the time, and I've been helping a lot more in my parents' shop. There's not a lot of time together unless we sneak off." She glanced toward me. "I have Katniss to thank for having the time with him yesterday. She chased after Peeta when he got so upset, and Rye stayed with me. It was nice."
"So, what, one date?" Madge smirked. "In two years?"
"No!" Delly snapped, a little indignantly. "He's taken me out plenty."
"Dell, the slag heap doesn't count," Madge said, and Delly laughed, covering her face to hide how vivid her blushing had grown.
"Just because he doesn't take me out doesn't make him any less my boyfriend than Gale is yours," Delly said, dropping her hands into her lap and pressing her lips together into a tight smile before leaning toward Madge. "And don't think for a minute I haven't heard all about how often you've been spotted out by that heap, Madge."
"I'm sure the reports are greatly understated," Madge smirked. Delly slapped her leg as the two of them broke into laughter.
"Oh my god." My thoughts finally came together, reaching a conclusion that was all too clear once it finally hit me. Delly and Madge quieted, turning toward me looking quizzical and amused, respectively. "I do have a boyfriend." They looked at each other for a moment before laughter burst out of them.
Thank you, everybody, for keeping up with us here and leaving such awesome reviews. If I start slipping behind on responding, let me just apologize in advance! That duty may fall to my husband in the near future, for a little while at least ;) Come find the two of us on tumblr! He's yourpeetaisshowing, I'm alonglineofbread. Say hi. It'll be fun.